Redesign
by Britani Gael
Summary: Movieverse. Sam has a lot of new things to get used to, and two things in particular.


**Title**: Redesign

**Author**: Brittany

**Fandom**: Transformers (2007)

**Rating**: PG

**Words**: 1700

**Summary**: Sam has a lot of new things to get used to, and two things in particular.

* * *

If there's one thing Sam doesn't know how to do—

That's just an expression, because there's lots of things Sam doesn't know how to do. A _lot_. Like, he doesn't know how to ask Mikaela out on a real date, instead of this hanging-out-'cause-we're friends thing that they keep doing. He can't figure out the right way to say it even though they've made out a couple times and _right now_ she's got both her arms around one of his, you'd think now would be the time, right?

He can't figure out how to say it.

—but anyway. If there's one thing Sam doesn't know how to do, it's how to bring up something a little awkward.

It's a cool, clear night. They're up on that hill, the one with the view, and Bumblebee's playing ambient soft rock on the radio. The stage is perfectly set for stargazing, which is what they've been doing, spending the last hour or so laying across Bumblebee's hood. Sam's got an idea that the stage is also probably pretty well set for some more making out—he's got another idea that if he actually listened to the lyrics of the music playing, they'd be steering him in that direction.

Sam's trying really hard not to listen to the lyrics, because they'll distract him from figuring out how to bring up what he _said_ he'd bring up—well, said to _himself_, out loud when no one else was listening—but he isn't making much progress. He opens his mouth and shuts it again.

How come this is so awkward? It's only a big deal if he _makes_ it a big deal, right?

"Just say it, Sam."

Sam jumps, sliding a tiny bit down the hood, until he catches himself with his hands. "W-what?"

Mikaela sighs, she lets go of his arm and leans back against Bumblebee's windshield. "We're supposed to be _relaxing_ and enjoying ourselves and instead you keep fidgeting and moving around and opening and closing your mouth, like—like a fish."

"Hey!" Sam bristles. A fish? She probably could've picked something even less flattering, like a freaking _cow_, but that's really not the point. "That's not even—I mean, I'm not—"

The music shuts off. That might've been considerate of Bumblebee, if he hadn't added that sound of a record screeching to a stop.

"Thanks, pal," Sam mutters, tempted to rap on the hood with his foot. "Thanks for that."

"You've been doing that for like an hour. And you've been kind of doing the same thing for days," Mikaela continues, ignoring Bumblebee's sound effect commentary. "You might as well just—" She gestures with both hands, and Sam has no idea what that means. Except that she's angry. "—just say it now, so this doesn't keep getting weirder and weirder."

Sam stares. "Um."

She stares back at him for several long, terrifying seconds, and then her face screws up and she turns away. Sam reaches out to touch her shoulder before he can even think better of it—and then he thinks maybe, yeah, _touching_ her isn't a good idea, since just sitting next to her silently doing nothing was enough to get her this upset. But he leaves his hand in place.

He takes a deep breath.

Mikaela crosses her arms. "If you're going to brea—"

It's better to get it over with, he thinks, and he speaks like he's trying to say every word all at once: "_D'y'thinkIsh'dg'anewcar?_"

Mikaela gives him a long, surprised look, and she lies back slowly. "Okay," she says. "I didn't even understand what you just said."

"I thought maybe I should get a new car," he says. He's pretty sure Bumblebee understood him the first time, what with the robot not saying anything. Or responding in any way at all. Sam cringes, positive he's not succeeding in keeping that expression inward. "For driving."

"Yeah, I know what a car's for, Sam. But, uh." She touches the hood awkwardly, with her hand flat against the plain, and then Sam's sure he sees her scoot away from him a little bit. She's looking at him like she's completely amazed—amazed at what a jerk he is, maybe. "I mean, um."

He groans. "I _know_."

They both fall quiet, presumably to give Bumblebee a chance to weigh in—Sam knows that's what _he's_ doing, anyway. But the robot must not have anything to say, because he just sits there silently, almost as if he really _was_ a car.

Mikaela speaks first. "This is getting a little—"

"—awkward," Sam finishes. It's his word of the night.

"I apologize," Bumblebee says. "I'm thinking."

His voice is _still_ a little weird to hear, maybe because when he's a car it doesn't seem to come from anywhere, exactly. But it's probably because he doesn't talk a whole lot, even if he's been fixed for a month. If Sam was in his position, well, you wouldn't be able to shut him up for anything, but before Bumblebee had said that he'd simply gotten used to communicating in other ways. And that made sense, because he was pretty good at that. Maybe if Sam had to walk around with a gag in his mouth for thousands and thousands of years, he'd figure something else out, too.

But he hasn't.

"Listen," Sam says. "I didn't—I mean, I don't—seriously, the last thing I'd ever _ever_ want to do is, um, offend—" Offend's the wrong word. "—ah, _upset_ you." Upset is even more off the mark, but why stop now, when he's on a _roll_, here. "I mean, I don't mean anything by it and I don't want to be a jerk and I don't know what the … the etiquette of something like this, um, is."

"The situation is unusual." Bumblebee sounds uncertain.

"Sam." Mikaela sounds like she wants to bail him out.

Sam shakes his head. "It's not _unusual_—okay, it is—but that's not what I…" He tries again. "My parents think I own you, but I don't, _obviously_, so it's, uh…"

"Weird?" Mikaela offers, raising her eyebrows.

Sam knows he asked when she was around for a reason, but help like _that_ really, really wasn't it. "No, _not_ weird—"

"Then what?" she asks. "You're not really making any sense, Sam."

He waits a second to see if Bumblebee has anything to add—apparently he doesn't—and then Sam tries again to say what he actually means. "I don't … want to treat my friend like a, a _thing_, y'know? You're not my car. And it's, yeah, _weird_—I mean, it's not weird, I just wouldn't bum rides off Miles whenever I want to go somewhere so why should I expect—okay, so it's a _little_ weird. But not a lot. It's not _that_ weird," he finishes, lamely. Because he's lame.

He's met with a whole lot of silence.

Sam deals with that for almost a whole minute, he's pretty sure. Then he flops backwards—onto the windshield, which doesn't give at _all_, ouch—and sighs and says, "Awesome. I'm an idiot and now you're _both_ mad at me. Wow."

"I'm not angry." It's a relief to hear Bumblebee finally speak. Him saying something reassuring is kind of a bonus, too.

"But I am an idiot."

"Sam, I'm not mad, either," Mikaela cuts in.

"But I _am_ an idiot." Sam doesn't know where he's going with that. Is he trying to get to agree? Disagree? "I don't know where I'm going with that," he adds, just so they're all on the same page.

"You aren't an idiot," Bumblebee says. "Does the current situation bother you?"

"No," Sam answers quickly, because he doesn't have to think about it, because it's true. The current situation is awesome, actually. "I just didn't know if, um, it was okay with you."

"Hm. You could have _asked_, rather than trouble yourself so much."

Good point. "Well. Yeah. Right."

"And in answer to your _implied_ question, no. I would not feel jealous of any other vehicle you choose to purchase, if that is what you want. Nor do I resent you 'bumming rides,' as you put it."

"Wait, when did I say jea—" Now that Sam thinks about it, _jealous_ is exactly what he meant, and doesn't that make it sound all kinds of stupid. "Um. I … can't actually afford a new car," he admits. "You cost me two thousand bucks, it took me eight months to save that up, I was just kinda … asking."

"Hm," Bumblebee says again. "It is good to know that you approach situations like these in such a direct and forthcoming manner."

"… _Hey_." Before Sam can say anything else, the radio clicks on again, starting back up with the 90's greatest soft rock hits. He moves like he's going to rap on the hood with his heels, but before he can do _that_, Mikaela puts her arms around his again and it's like they're back in the beginning of the night.

Which is a good place to be.

"You're a dork," she says, fondly. She puts her head on his shoulder.

"Thanks."

"No, I mean—it's cute."

He sighs. "Yeah. Thanks."

"I thought you were going to break up with me."

It takes a second for that to sink in, and then Sam forgets how comfortable he is and sits straight up. "_What_? Why would you—"

Mikaela pushes her hair off her face and shrugs. "Lots of guys act like that right before they break up with you. You know, kind of weird, don't want to talk about stuff, and I guess you've been worried about _this_—which I, like, never ever would've guessed, by the way—"

"Wait," Sam interrupts.

"What?"

"If you thought I was going to break up with you… does this mean we're going out? For real?"

She narrows her eyes at him for a second—just long enough for him to think that maybe he miscalculated, there—and then she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. "I swear," she says. "_Such_ a dork." And then she pulls him back down onto the hood, and Bumblebee's music swells up into the most embarrassing crescendo of all time.

This time, Sam really does rap on the hood.

"Thanks," he says, a second later.

See? he thinks, taking in the smell of Mikaela's hair and turning his eyes up to the pretty spectacular view up above. That wasn't so bad, after all.


End file.
